Story Book Preview
by MysteriousWriting
Summary: Please review telling me what you think...please be professional
1. Chapter 1

_A New Beginning – Blake's POV_

The car drove along the highway. The rain fell from the sky leaving everything covered in water. I traced my finger down a falling water drop upon my window. Once it was gone, I sighed. I looked forward at the car in front of us and looked through the window to see two children watching a movie. That car seemed to contain fun, something this one lacked.

James, my social worker, looked over at me and said, "Hey champ, only two more hours and we're at your new home."

I sighed and then blurted out, "Why did I have to leave? Everything was fine there."

James sighed and said, "You'll understand when you're older." I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes at the sound of those words. Adults always tell that to children, it's stupid.

We continued to drive. James tried to talk to my but I blocked him out with my iPod. I didn't sing along, but the words moved along inside me. The words of the song expressed me, alone and fragile, no one to love, and no one to love me.

The car eventually turned and led us to a restaurant. I sighed and asked, "Really? Do we have time?"

James laughed, "There is always time to eat."

"Of course you'd say that," I whispered under my breath.

Even when walking the short distance from the parking lot to the restaurant we were soaked in rain. When James opened the door I walked in and slipped on the tile. Everyone in the diner took a laugh at me. I grew angrier and angrier until I screamed.

The moment that I screamed we heard a boom. The cook came out and said, "The oven exploded!" At that time everyone stared at me in disbelief.

"How?" they mumbled.

"What?" they whispered.

"Witch!" even some of them said. James put his hand on my shoulder and told me it was time to go. As we left the building a small crowd followed us to see what I did and how I did it. As we drove away I saw fire trucks and police cars drive up to the now in flames building.

I saw people waving their arms around and some people describing me to the sketch artist. I cursed under my breath and saw the pad burst into flames. I sighed and fell into slumber, then had a dream.

_The sun in the sky was setting and my foster mother and I were rolling up the picnic blanket. My foster mother was the most beautiful women alive. She had short brown hair and rosy red cheeks. Her Yellow day dress came down to her yellow high heels. She always wore a yellow Sunday bonnet whenever we went out. _

_Once the blanket was wrapped we began to head home. Deciding to take the shortcut through the alleyway a man jumped out at us and held up a knife._

"_Come with me!" he told my mother._

_At only five I stepped in front of her courageously and said, "No!"_

_He said, "Watch it kid or I'll hurt you too."_

"_Blake leave," my foster mother said, "I'll be fine." I started to walk away and then heard my foster mother scream. I grew rage and turned around. I held my hand up and spoke words I didn't even know._

"_Nequam__," I spoke, "meam clament ad flammas cadetis, in vos mortem dormire cubili tuo hoc eritultimum spirtitum!" The man burst in flames and let my mother go. I went to her side to help her and she told me when we got home to pack our bags, she said it was not safe here._

_We continued to walk until we reached our apartment complex. I stared at it as if something had changed._

"_Come on," my foster mother urged._

"_I, I…" I stuttered. She then grabbed me and took me up stairs, there we found a wrecked apartment. There were sofas torn and blood stained all over the carpets. Written in blood on the wall was, "__Electus,__venit__electus__est__, mors__illum manet__,__vereor__ut."_

_We went into the apartment only to find my foster mother's emergency money and then left. We walked to a car dealership in which we used the money to buy a car. We were on the run ever since._

I awoke. That dream seemed so familiar, yet nothing like it taunted my memory. All that I remembered was the women's face and mine, my foster mom and me. I only seemed to remember last week when my mother and I were found. Once that door rushed open, it's like all of my memories faded.

As I awoke I noticed us pulling into a drive way. 'Are we here?' I asked myself. It was weird; it felt as if I was asleep for only five minutes when it was nearly two hours. Once we were in park my social worker and I got out of the car and walked up to the door.

Once out of the car I was able to admire the beauty of the house. Nice elegant pink wood with a white frame around. A freshly re-done roof and an apple tree in the front yard. I could see the second story windows, only with a hole in it.

I smiled, this place felt warm, it felt like home. Once we reached the door way I looked at my social worker and sighed. I then rushed back to the car to grab my bag.

When I got back he said, "Don't want to forget that, do you?" I rolled my eyes and pressed the doorbell. A buzz was heard then a muffling of steps. I squeezed the handle of my bag before the door opened. Finally a kindly old lady stood in front of us. I inspected her head to toe taking in every detail about. She seemed like an old version of my foster mother.

I admired her pink Sunday bonnet and her grey hair wrapped tightly in a bun. I enjoyed her pink day dress that come down to pink church shoes. I liked the white gloves she wore and the smile upon her face.

Everything was interrupted when she asked me, "Are you Blane?" My smile turned to a frown. That obviously wasn't my name, no one was named Blane.

"Blake," I responded, "and yes, that is me." She nodded as if making a mental note and stepped aside so that I could walk in. I proceeded forward and found myself in the living room. Unlike the outside of the house, the inside was dull. Everything was grey and white, plus, no TV.

"Great," I said to myself, "How is a thirteen year old supposed to entertain himself?" I continued to explore the home hoping to find anything interesting at all, sadly, I was disappointed.

I made my way back to the living room and sat on the couch. I waited for the lady and my social worker to finish up conversation. She walked up to me so I stood.

"Follow me," she said, "I will take you to your room." I lifted my bag off the couch and followed her upstairs. Once in the upstairs hallway the lady stopped, she bent over to pick up a piece of paper, read it, crumpled it, and held it in her hand. I wondered what the paper said but I kept my suspicion to myself.

She pointed at my door signaling it was my room. She headed downstairs and I stared at the door. The wood was stripped down with rusted hinges. There were a few small holes and a spider on it. There were plenty of names scratched into the door, and plenty of them scratched off. I didn't know it was my imagination but I saw Gregory being crossed out and Blake being etched in, as if air was doing it itself. I felt like turning around, but turned the handle to the right and pushed.


	2. Important Update  Changed Topic

Prologue

Running, she was running, running for her life, her power, her child. She had to run farther, faster, or they would get her. She just kept running, so swiftly and so gracefully. With an infant cuddled in one arm, she just kept running.

Eventually her legs began to tire, her lungs grew weak. She had to hide, hide herself, but first she had to hide the child. Running, her energy drained, she slowed down.

The others behind her kept going after her, closer and closer with each step. They ran; they ran to catch her, so fast they left trails of light. Faster, they had to go faster.

"Get the child." Their master told them. Faster they ran, and faster did the mother, running, running, faster, faster. She slowed down even more and more. She turned, she found an orphanage, yes, she could hide him there.

She went up the steps and placed the child on the floor. Rain fell from the sky soaking them both. She pulled out a parchment and wrote upon it. The note read:

"Edmond,

Infant of Age 0. Born August 14, 1998."

She rang the bell and left. Running again, but lighter, free, she stopped. She looked back to see a woman picking up the child. Tears rolled down the mother's face. "Soon," she whispered, "soon."

She began running again, running faster, lighter, soon her feet lifted off the ground. Flying, she was free. Faster she flew, wider her wings grew. She was transforming, from a witch to a bird, a white elegant bird.

Faster she flew, up into the night sky, away from the evil, faster and faster until no trace was of her. She was free, free from the Order, free from the restrictions, free from the Dark Magic that possessed the land, but not contempt.

There was still a part of her there, for he was only an infant, only the age of 0, and yet he could not fly. Tears rolled down from her eyes falling into the night sky. She was free, but she would not stay that way. She would need to return for her child, her son.


	3. Chapter 3  Like our fbTHEHUNTTRILLOGY

CHAPTER ONE

We grew up in a small home—my brother, my mother and me. Money was tight in our family and half the time we didn't know where our next meal was coming from. We were just stuck at home, waiting, starving, and hoping for a meal to appear at our front door.

My mother did everything she could to take care of the family. At times, my mother had to sell her body just so she could feed us for the night. She would come home with a rotting salmon, cook it, then go to her room and cry herself to sleep. I hated seeing her like

this, so I took on the duty to provide for our family. I tried to do as much work as I could. I would shine shoes for the smallest amount of change and I would beg on the streets, hoping to get any a slim penny for my family.

At times I wanted to give up, but then I remembered my family. My mother's once beautiful golden curls turned white and her silver eyes turned to a dull grey. Only at thirty-five she began to grow wrinkles on her face. She had a horrible hunch in her back and she just always seemed so tired. My brother, at a stunted growth. He was always a sickly green and his brown curls seemed to lose color with everyday that passed. Then there was me, facing the least of it all. My dirty-blonde hair stayed its natural color and not losing much weight. I did have a scar on my cheek from a knife fight, but it was nothing really. The only abnormal feature about me really was the one blue and one silver eye. Some called it luck and some thought it was a curse, the reason for my family's poverty.

One day luck took me by the arm. Two boys, one named Isaac and the other Jeremiah—approached where I was, sat beside me and also began begging for money. Later that day, they took pity on me and brought me to the lake. They told me of the fish in there, fresh, and ready to be cooked. They spoke of diving into the water, grabbing the fish and frying them fresh. In that moment, I thought of them as mad. No one in their right mind would go into the infected waters where nuclear radiation haunted them. Ten seconds in there would leave you floating to the top of the water dead. The boys saw my facial expressions and knew what I was thinking. They then walked me around the lake and showed a small part of it, hidden from sight. The water there was different, it was clear.

Isaac spoke with confidence, "This here water is protected by an old dam. This water is in no way contaminated by the nuclear radiation. You are free to hunt with us and feed your family." A smile lit my face. No more of my mother selling her body to feed us. There was no more begging on the streets, and no more shining shoes for the smallest amount of change.

I wanted to go home to tell my family the news, but I was stopped by Isaac. "No one can know we're hunting. Promise not to tell anyone." I nodded my head in agreement and looked down at the ground.

"What will I tell my family when they ask where the food comes from?" I asked.

"Just lie to them," Jeremiah replied, "it's easy!" I nodded again, then began walking off. 'What was I going to tell them?' I asked myself. I couldn't think of an answer and just had to wing it when the time came.

On my way home I stopped by the local market. Since I didn't fish today, I bought a bunch of rotting bananas. 'This would have to do for the night.' I told myself. I made my way home to feed my family.

I began hunting with the others the next day. What was going to happen that day was something I wasn't prepared for. Jeremiah held me down while Isaac pulled my wrist toward him. I tried screaming for help, only to have Jeremiah stuff some fabric into my mouth.

Isaac pulled out a needle and a bottle of ink. I then knew where this was going. Many men at the local pub had the tattoos all over their bodies. They were usually of the wings of a Skyhawk, or phrases on the gills. They always looked painful to get, and I promised myself I would never get one. I guess my promise was about to be broken.

As soon as the needle tore through my flesh I felt as though my skin was being ripped right off my body. The pain was unbearable and I just wanted to die. This lasted for a few short moments until the tattoo was done. It then was a barcode with twelve numbers on it. Jeremiah then let me go and I pulled the fabric out of my mouth. It turned out to be a sock. I began yelling at them with every foul word in the book. They tried to calm me down and to get the reaction of me flaring my gills. My eyes glue red and they stepped back, in obvious fear.

"What is this!" I asked the two.

"A symbol," said Jeremiah.

"Our saying," finished Isaac, "It says Hunters, Brothers for Life."

"Brothers for Life," I repeated to myself. I spent that day hunting for my family and brought us each home a fresh fish for us to eat. I thought they would be happy at the sight of a decent meal, but instead found myself being questioned.

"Where did you get this food?" my mother yelled.

"I uh…" was my stuttering response.

"Despicable," my mother replied, "My son is a lying, no good, thief."

At those words I stood up and slapped my mother. "Don't ever make false accusations about me. All I did was provide for my family, and you make me feel like crap! " She just stood there stunned.

"What?" I continued, "You don't want a good meal? Do you want to feed on the tiniest scraps I got before? Do you want to see Darren grow sicker every day? What kind of mother are you!" I stormed out of the room and went to go lay on my cot. I was waiting for her to come in and apologize but didn't get a thing. I went to bed hungry while they split three fish between themselves. Eventually I forgave my mother, even without a sorry. It was just the right thing to do.

After that night, I spent every moment I could hunting. This was the schedule I lived by for four years of my life. I went from a twelve-year-old hunter to a sixteen-year-old killing machine. I wasn't ready to stop feeding my family, and I don't think I would ever be.


End file.
